


(Wouldn't change you) For All the Gold in the World

by LeapAngstily



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Western, Crossdressing, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Identity Issues, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Prostitution (mentioned), alcohol (mentioned)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-08
Updated: 2015-01-08
Packaged: 2018-03-06 17:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3143372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spaghetti Western AU: takes place before <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2638310">Worth Your Weight in Gold</a>. The progress of Pippo and Riccardo’s relationship told in seven shaky steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Wouldn't change you) For All the Gold in the World

**Author's Note:**

> Technically this could work as a standalone, but I still suggest reading the original story first to understand the premise. I actually came up with this background story before the actual plot and I refer to it many times in _Worth Your Weight in Gold_ , but the different focus of the story made it impossible to go into detail with their relationship back then.

_I_  
  
  
It all started with a joke.  
  
“Well, I could use a saloon girl. Do you happen to know how to walk on high heels?”  
  
Pippo had been so good to Riccardo since he first arrived in Miner’s Rest – fed him, clothed him, gave him a place to stay even though he had no ways of paying him – and Riccardo had felt he would have seemed completely ungrateful if he did not even offer to give something in return.  
  
“I could learn,” the reply came out automatically, before Riccardo could actually consider the suggestion. But as he thought about it, he realized that becoming someone else – a woman – could be his way out of the endless cycle of running and hiding, if only for a while.  
  
Not that he could ever pass for a woman, not with his height and angular body, a cynical voice in the back of his mind jeered at him, sounding suspiciously like his father.  
  
“But you were joking, right?” Riccardo added with a more subdued tone, “I wouldn’t even look the part: I’d just drive away your customers.”  
  
Pippo looked at him for a long time, the silence stretching between them, and suddenly Riccardo realized he was scrutinizing him, taking in every detail from head to toe.  
  
“Nonsense,” Pippo finally said, standing up and walking over to Riccardo, “Your face’s pretty enough to pass any inspection. A bit of makeup and a fitting dress – and a fuck load of training, of course – and no one could tell the difference.”  
  
He leant forward, studying Riccardo’s face carefully, a finger brushing the short stubble on his chin, “I could make you disappear, if that’s what you want.”  
  
It was the first time Pippo had come so close to Riccardo. They had known each other only for a few days, but during that time Riccardo had noticed Pippo was a very private man who treasured his personal space, so he had not even tried to approach him.  
  
But now that they were face to face, so close Riccardo could practically feel Pippo’s breath on his skin, Riccardo realized Pippo was handsome, even with his stern face and the first few lines age had brought to his forehead.  
  
For a second Riccardo considered saying no, because he did not want Pippo to find out what he was, could not handle the disgust in his face when he realized why Riccardo was hiding.  
  
Pippo was a good man and Riccardo did not want him to get into any trouble because of him. Pretending to be a woman to deceive Pippo’s customers was probably the surest way to do just that.  
  
“I could stay? If I let you do it?” he could not keep the hopefulness out of his voice as he asked the question.  
  
Miner’s Rest had felt like a safe haven for Riccardo ever since he had first stumbled into the town and through the swinging doors of the Three Barrels Saloon. But more than anything,  _Pippo_  had felt like a safe haven: for the first time since he had arrived in California, Riccardo felt like he had found someone he could trust.  
  
“As long as you like,” a small smile was tugging on the corner of Pippo’s mouth as he said it, and that was enough to assure Riccardo it would be fine – Pippo would make it fine.  
  
  
_II_  
  
  
Pippo rarely talked about his past to the townspeople. Otherwise someone might have known he used to work at a large dance hall just down the road from where the Three Barrels now stood.  
  
It had been back when the town was still flourishing, miners and prospectors coming and going on a daily basis, looking for a company of beautiful young women employed by dance halls and parlour houses.  
  
Officially Pippo had been in charge of the bar, but in practice his duties had included helping the new girls to dress and learn the manners expected from a good dance hall girl – it was how he had first met his former fiancée – as well as keeping an eye on the customers to make sure the girls were safe.  
  
He had kept the large box of makeup and the wardrobe full of dresses his fiancée had left behind when she abandoned him. Most of them he had bought for her himself, so he had figured it was only reasonable he would hold onto them until he found some use for them.  
  
Years had gone by and he had never opened the wardrobe again, not until he met Riccardo and decided it was time to end his self-imposed seclusion.  
  
Because even though Pippo never admitted it to anyone, he was lonely, and having Riccardo staying in his quarters – even for only a few days – had reminded him it did not have to be like that. It was a relief to have someone to talk to, someone who asked questions – someone who was interested in his life.  
  
So he finally opened the wardrobe and pulled out the box of makeup. It was old, he would probably have to get a new set if Riccardo really decided to stay, but it was enough for now.  
  
“Stay still,” he told Riccardo as he picked up the first brush, applying the makeup with sure hands, the old memory from his earlier years coming back to him.  
  
Riccardo had shaved and washed up upon Pippo’s request, and just as Pippo had thought, it was easy enough to emphasize his soft, almost feminine features. Biggest work went into the eyes – wide, blue, beautiful eyes that would draw all the attention away from Riccardo’s not so feminine body.  
  
“There. What do you think?” he finally allowed Riccardo to turn around and look into the mirror in the corner of the room, “We obviously need to do your hair too, and find a dress that flatters you, but do you think it could work?”  
  
“It’s—” Riccardo stared at the mirror for a long time, turning his face from one side to another in disbelief, “Is it really me? How did you do that?”  
  
“I did nothing, it’s all your features right there,” Pippo smiled to himself as he studied Riccardo’s reactions, schooling his face back to normal the moment the boy turned to look at him again.  
  
“I think I’ve got a dress that might fit you,” he told Riccardo quickly and headed back to the wardrobe, going through the dresses, “It’s not the latest fashion and you’re probably too tall for it, but it’s got lacing at the back so we should be able to adjust the size for you. Here!”  
  
He pulled out the dark blue dress and presented it to Riccardo, who looked at it doubtfully.  
  
“Why do you have all this stuff? You’re living alone, aren’t you?”  
  
Pippo smiled bitterly and let out a humourless laugh before answering, “Let a man have some secrets, will you? Here, try it on: let’s see if we need to do some adjustments.”  
  
Riccardo took the dress without another word, pulling his undershirt over his head slowly, careful not to smudge the makeup. It was lucky he was so skinny, Pippo thought as Riccardo slipped into the dress, even though it was probably mostly due to the malnourishment caused by lack of money.  
  
“We need to get you a corset and a proper petticoat, to give you a bit more feminine figure,” Pippo observed as he helped Riccardo lace up the dress, fixing the neckline in place, “The lack of cleavage shouldn’t be a problem as long as you stick to the higher necklines with ruffles and a bit of filling in right places.”  
  
The dress reached only Riccardo’s mid-shin even though it was supposed to be full-length, but thankfully that was not a problem at a saloon – the real problem would be teaching Riccardo to walk in high heels so naturally no one would question it even if they could see his feet.  
  
Riccardo looked down at the dress, caressing the frills sewn to the fabric carefully before turning around to study himself from the mirror again.  
  
“I need a new name,” he told Pippo thoughtfully, meeting his gaze through the mirror, “Something to go by with the customers. And with you as well, I guess, so that I can get used to hearing it.”  
  
“That’s true. We need to think of something,” Pippo offered him a small smile as Riccardo continued studying his new look, eyes filled with wonder.  
  
For a second Riccardo reminded Pippo of his fiancée – how she had looked the first time she wore that same dress, only a few weeks into their engagement – but he forced the thought out of his mind.  
  
He was  _not_  replacing his fiancée with Riccardo: Riccardo was just a boy, someone who had come into Pippo’s life because he needed help, and Pippo was ready to offer him that because he knew what it felt like to be alone.  
  
“Keep your legs closer to each other,” Pippo told Riccardo quietly as he started collecting the makeup brushes from the table, “Place more weight on one leg and push your hip to the side when you stand still – it’ll create an illusion that you actually have round hips.”  
  
“What’re you, some expert on women?” Riccardo asked with a teasing smile, but he still adjusted his position just like Pippo had instructed, placing his hands on his hips in a decidedly feminine fashion.  
  
  
_III_  
  
  
“Don’t look at your feet.”  
  
Riccardo snapped his head up at Pippo’s words, but instead of the balance he was supposed to be holding, he stumbled right away, staying upright only by leaning on the wall with his hands.  
  
“Look what you did! I was doing just fine before you barged in!”  
  
The shoes Pippo had ordered for him from Sacramento were almost a perfect fit – they had probably cost Pippo a small fortune, but Riccardo had not dared to ask the actual price – and they were not even that high, but Riccardo still found walking in them a pure impossibility, no matter how much he practiced.  
  
“If you learn to walk in them the wrong way from the start, it’ll be a pain in the ass to fix the problems,” Pippo stated dryly, but Riccardo could see an amused glint in his eyes.  
  
“You’re just teasing me,” he grumbled as he tried to straighten his posture again, “Why do I even have to use these things? I’m as tall as the customers even without the heels.”  
  
“It’s part of the role, Rita,” Pippo said the name casually, as if it was what he had always known Riccardo as, “Once you learn how to move in them, they’ll give you more confidence – make you  _feel_  feminine instead of just looking the part.”  
  
Riccardo wanted to argue that he would never feel confident with drunkards leering at him, high heels or not, but he did not want to sound ungrateful – staying had been his own choice, he had told Pippo he would learn these things.  
  
“Look at me, Rita,” Pippo told him in gentle voice, standing at the door, a couple meters away from Riccardo with his hand offered to him, “It’s not that difficult. Look at me and walk over here, take my hand. Short steps. Put your weight on the heel first, then toes.”  
  
Riccardo took one hesitant step towards him. Pippo was holding his gaze, forcing him to look forward. Slow, careful steps, one by one, and then Riccardo reached for Pippo’s hand and felt the long fingers wrapping around his own.  
  
“There, it wasn’t that bad,” Pippo smiled at him, his free hand settling on Riccardo’s back as he urged him to turn around and walk to the other side of the room again, “Roll your shoulders back, just like that, suck your belly in, don’t slouch. And then just relax and walk like you normally would.”  
  
Riccardo followed the instructions and to his surprise, he did not stumble even once as Pippo led him through the room slowly, his hand never moving away from his back.  
  
“See? You’re a natural,” Pippo told him when they reached the wall and Riccardo let out an audible sigh of relief, “You’ll be downstairs serving the customers in no time.”  
  
“That’s what I’m afraid of…” Riccardo muttered half to himself, but of course Pippo heard him.  
  
“Don’t worry, they’re gonna adore you. You’re beautiful, Rita,” Pippo caressed Riccardo’s cheek as he spoke, and suddenly Riccardo was extremely thankful for the extra layer of rouge he had added today, because it covered up the natural blush rising on his cheeks.  
  
“If you say so,” he answered softly, looking down at his painted nails. He had had to stop biting his nails – a nervous habit he had never managed to get rid of back in Chicago – when he started painting them, the bitter taste of nail polish a good reminder that he was supposed to act more ladylike if he wanted to make it in the saloon.  
  
“I know so,” Pippo said, his voice so certain that Riccardo could almost believe him, “Do you know how to dance? They say nothing helps you get used to high heels faster than dancing in them.”  
  
“All the basic ballroom dances,” Riccardo answered hesitantly, “Though I only know the male steps.”  
  
“It’s not that different, you just follow my lead,” Pippo told him with a smile and then he pulled Riccardo into the basic dance hold, moving their intertwined hands to the side while his other hand on Riccardo’s back dropped lower to rest on his waist.  
  
Next he started humming a slow waltz under his breath, pulling Riccardo into the familiar steps, spinning him around the middle of the room slowly. Riccardo realized quickly it was really not that hard to let Pippo take the lead.  
  
“When I was younger, I worked at a dance hall,” Pippo said as they kept swaying to the now nonexistent music, “I met a girl there, Alessia. She was a bit like you – kind of lost in the world, no one there to take care of her, unsure what she wanted to do with her life. I fell in love with her right away.”  
  
So Pippo had been with someone, long ago. Riccardo had suspected as much – the makeup and the dresses were a big giveaway – but he had stopped himself from asking after that first time, because it was none of his business and obviously it was still a difficult topic for Pippo.  
  
“What happened to her?”  
  
“She left, found someone who could provide for her better than me,” Pippo was looking over Riccardo’s shoulder as he said it, like staring at some invisible spot in the wall, “I haven’t been with anyone since then. I never even  _danced_  with anyone since she left.”  
  
Riccardo was not sure whether he should be upset because Pippo was obviously thinking of this Alessia even while he was dancing with Riccardo – Rita, he corrected himself, he was Rita to Pippo right now – or if he should be happy that Pippo was doing something like this for him in the first place.  
  
“She must’ve been an idiot to leave you,” Riccardo whispered, looking past Pippo because he knew he should not be saying these things, not when Pippo could get a wrong idea – the  _right_  idea – from his words, “She should’ve been happy, to have found someone like you.”  
  
“I wasn’t always like this,” Pippo retorted gruffly, “You didn’t know me back then – she was right to leave.”  
  
“But you loved her. You kept her belongings here, all this time,” Riccardo said carefully, finally turning his head to meet Pippo’s eyes, “How long did you wait for her to come back? Did you ever stop?”  
  
Right then, Pippo pulled them to an abrupt stop, making Riccardo lose his balance again. He stumbled against Pippo’s chest, the hand on his waist the only thing keeping him upright.  
  
“Sorry,” Pippo apologized quickly as he helped Riccardo to find his balance, “I need to go prepare the bar – I heard there’s a group of travellers coming from Shasta tonight, so the business should be good.”  
  
Riccardo was left standing in the middle of the room, his feet aching from the prolonged use of the high heels, but the realization he had unintentionally hurt Pippo was much more painful than the physical ache.  
  
“I’d never leave you,” he whispered at the closed door that led to the staircase and down to the saloon, “If you could give me even a fraction of what you felt for her— I’d never leave you, I swear.”  
  
  
_IV_  
  
  
“I’ve got a present for you, Rita,” Pippo told Riccardo with a smile, handing him a small gift wrapped in plain brown paper, “To celebrate your first night in the bar.”  
  
Riccardo accepted the gift gingerly, looking down at it suspiciously, “You’ve spent all your money on me since I came here, surely you don’t need to get me anything more? I’m starting to think you’re trying to seduce me, Pippo dearest.”  
  
Pippo could not help but laugh at the pet name – they had agreed it felt more natural than Rita calling him ‘sir’ or ‘master’, not to mention feigning an affair was the easiest way to keep the customers from getting too familiar with the new girl.  
  
“Because if you are,” Riccardo continued with a teasing smile, pursing his painted lips and fluttering his long eyelashes invitingly, “I’ll have you know that I’m not that kind of a girl. You can’t buy my affections with silly presents.”  
  
Riccardo had truly perfected his new role in a matter of weeks: he was spectacular – Pippo himself probably would not have realized he was a man if he did not know.  
  
“Just open it,” he told Riccardo, “We need to open the saloon soon and I want you to see it before that.”  
  
“If you say so, love,” Riccardo let out a soft giggle – God, Pippo had no idea how he could make it sound so natural – and opened the present carefully, making sure not to rip the wrapping paper.  
  
“I know saloon girls usually get those from the patrons,” Pippo admitted softly when Riccardo pulled out the frilly blue garters, “But I’m afraid my customers aren’t wealthy enough to afford such presents. And you needed something to keep your stockings up.”  
  
“I had the old ones,” Riccardo reminded him, but now there was a genuine smile gracing his lips, “But thank you, they’re very pretty.”  
  
“So are you,” Pippo told him immediately, half because Riccardo needed to hear it to gain confidence before his first day at work, half because he really meant it: Riccardo was beautiful.  
  
“May I?” he asked then, taking the garters from Riccardo’s hands and kneeling down in front of his chair. When he got a nod of consent, he lifted the dress just enough to see the tops of the stockings and the black garters holding them up.  
  
“My mother always told me not to let strange men touch me,” Riccardo said in a light tone as Pippo pulled Alessia’s old garters off, running his fingers over the long legs gently, “She’d be so very proud of me now, don’t you think, Pippo dear?”  
  
“You never talk about your family,” Pippo replied quietly as he moved to pull the first garter up Riccardo’s leg, fixing the black lace stocking in place, “Are they the reason why you’re here? Are you hiding from them?”  
  
He caressed Riccardo’s thigh above the stocking, hidden under the numerous layers of his dress and the petticoat, meeting his gaze squarely when Riccardo looked down at him, “What’re you running from, Rita?”  
  
Pippo noticed Riccardo was biting the inside of his lower lip, obviously hesitating, and the leg under his hand felt tense, like preparing to bolt.  
  
“Sorry, you don’t need to answer that,” he said quickly and pulled his hands away, moving to the other stocking, “I just figured, since you know about Alessia and all, that we might be close enough to talk about it. But it’s okay, I get it.”  
  
“I didn’t want to marry. Not ever. Not anyone,” Riccardo admitted quietly once Pippo was done with the stockings and stood up again, “They didn’t understand, they just wanted to use me as a pawn for their business. They wanted me to be  _normal_ , even if it meant denying everything that I was, everything that I wanted to be.”  
  
“And what did you want to be?” Pippo had had his suspicions even before he asked the question, but he had to know for sure, because Riccardo would hate him forever if he was wrong in his assumptions.  
  
“Happy,” Riccardo answered, his voice nothing more than a whisper, “Accepted. Free. With someone I could truly love and  _want_ , without everyone telling me it was wrong.”  
  
Before he could say anything more, Pippo took a hold of his chin to pull his face up and pressed a chaste kiss on his painted lips.  
  
“It’s okay here: I’ll take care of you, my Rita,” he told Riccardo quietly, stroking his cheek gently before pulling away, wiping the traces of lipstick from his mouth with the back of his hand, “I’m going to the bar – you better fix your makeup and then come down too, so I can show you how everything works before the opening time.”  
  
He felt like a coward, running away like that, but he did not know what else he was supposed to do. This was the first time he had felt like this since Alessia left and the very first time he felt like this about a man – even if Riccardo did make a fine woman.  
  
Pippo had no idea what he was supposed to do with these feelings. Hell, he did not even know if Riccardo felt anything for him – even if he did like men, it did not mean he was into men almost twice his age, after all.  
  
  
_V_  
  
  
Three weeks into his new job and Riccardo was enjoying every moment of it.  
  
Sure, most of the customers were poor drunkards, who could not think of anything but grabbing Rita’s butt when she walked past, and even the ones who kept their hands to themselves were still leering at her or making foul suggestions.  
  
But it was the first time Riccardo could openly bask in the attention of men, flirt with them, make himself the object of their lust. It did not matter it was not him they were looking at but  _her_  – Rita was a role played to the perfection, until she had become her own entity.  
  
Spending the working hours with Pippo, casually flirting with him to uphold his cover, was a nice bonus.  
  
Pippo had not brought up that sudden kiss after it had happened, so Riccardo had opted to keep it out of his mind as well. He had probably said something that reminded Pippo of his fiancée, made him feel nostalgic, which had prompted the unexpected reaction.  
  
“Gimme a goodnight kiss, Rita,” one of the old miners grabbed Riccardo’s ass with both hands as he was showing the last customers out, “You be a good girl and come over to my camp tonight, aye?”  
  
“I’m afraid you’ve come to a wrong place for that,” Pippo interfered before Riccardo could say anything, politely pushing the man’s hands off him, “Rita’s not a whore. The nearest brothels are in around Mt Shasta, though it might be a bit far for you to get company for the night.”  
  
“I was just joking,” the man mumbled, his words slurring from the alcohol.  
  
“Of course you were,” Riccardo offered him a charming smile and a kiss on the cheek, “We hope to see you here again. Have sweet dreams tonight, sir.”  
  
“You can tell them to keep their hands off you, you know?” Pippo noted as they closed the saloon together, washing the dishes and wiping the tables, “They’re more than happy to just have you around – these guys rarely even see a woman, let alone get close enough to touch.”  
  
“I don’t mind,” Riccardo assured him with a shy smile, wiping the last table before walking over to the counter, “Let them have their bit of fun here, before they have to go back to their cold and empty beds. It’s actually kind of nice: it’s not like I get to be touched that much either.”  
  
“So, would you have gone with him if—?” Pippo’s voice died down before he could end the question.  
  
“God, no! I’d rather be dead than sell myself to these brutes,” Riccardo laughed out loud at the mere suggestion and then he reached over the counter to brush his fingers over Pippo’s, “There’s only one man in this whole town I could give myself to. You know that, don’t you?”  
  
Pippo flinched away from the touch, the glass in his hands almost falling from his fingers. The reaction was almost enough to break Riccardo’s heart, because it told him that despite that one kiss, despite all the flirting, Pippo did not want him, not for real.  
  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I’ll just go upstairs, wash off the makeup,” Riccardo fumbled with the words, nothing he wanted to say coming out right. Just as he was about to leave, Pippo grabbed a hold of his hand, stopping him from moving.  
  
“Don’t,” Pippo said softly, caressing the back of Riccardo’s hand with his thumb, “I’m sorry, Rita. Don’t go.”  
  
“Can’t we just pretend?” Riccardo blurted out, the thought that had been occupying his mind since Pippo had told him about Alessia finally transforming into words, “You could imagine I was her, I wouldn’t mind. If you could just hold me for a while, it’s all I need. It’s easier like this, when I can be Rita – it’s not wrong like this.”  
  
It was not what he really wanted, but if it meant he could have Pippo – even just for a little while, even just as Rita – then Riccardo would take that chance. He could even be happy with it.  
  
Pippo looked like he wanted to say something – his eyes so full of emotions: confusion, sadness, affection, uncertainty – but in the end he only let out a deep breath and told Riccardo with a tired smile: “Okay, let’s pretend.”  
  
Pippo walked around the counter until he was facing Riccardo, studying his face carefully for a long while, like searching for something.  
  
Then finally, he leant in and pressed his lips on Riccardo’s, the kiss much harder than the one before, his tongue sliding between Riccardo’s lips and into his mouth, tasting the lukewarm tea he had enjoyed with the customers.  
  
Pippo was not the first man who had kissed Riccardo like that, but he was the first one who had managed to make his knees weak with  _just_  a kiss. By the time they pulled apart for air, Riccardo’s whole body was shivering with anticipation, his cock tucked inside the too tight underwear aching painfully.  
  
“Please,” Riccardo whispered, his fingers clutching the front of Pippo’s shirt, breathing laboured, voice barely audible, “Please, Pippo. It can only be you. You don’t need to touch me down there; you don’t even need to make me come. Just, make me feel wanted, please?”  
  
“I do want you,” Pippo replied quietly, caressing Riccardo’s face with both hands, urging him into another kiss, even hungrier than the first one.  
  
Riccardo let out a surprised whimper into the kiss when Pippo dropped one of his hands to his waist and pulled him closer – so close Riccardo could feel Pippo’s erection pressed against his hip even through the many layers of clothing.  
  
“See? That’s all you,” Pippo let out a breathy laugh against his lips, rubbing his fingers against the back of Riccardo’s neck, “That’s how much I want you, Rita.”  
  
Pippo fucked him that night, bent over the corner table in the saloon, away from the windows, his skirts lifted up to reveal his ass but nothing more – and it hurt, hurt,  _hurt_ , but not enough to make Riccardo want to stop, because even with the pain, even with the pretence, it was still the best feeling he had ever experienced.  
  
And afterwards Pippo held him close, kissed his hair, told him it had meant something, and for that one night, Riccardo could believe he really did mean it.  
  
  
_VI_  
  
  
Pippo waited in the saloon while Riccardo said his goodbyes to the boy who had spent the night – the heir of the Shasta gold mining monopoly, Pippo knew, but he also knew he could never use that information for his own benefit without mixing Riccardo into the scandal.  
  
He had spent the night at Gigi’s, too uncomfortable staying in the same quarters with Riccardo and  _that boy_ , even though they still had separate rooms despite Riccardo spending half of his nights in Pippo’s bed.  
  
Pippo did not know when it had happened, but he had learnt to think of his home as theirs – Riccardo and his – and it had felt so wrong for someone else to be there, touching Riccardo, making him feel good, wanted.  
  
Riccardo had told Pippo it could only be him, and that was how it had been for months since then. Until the previous night, when the boy had walked in and practically begged Riccardo spend the night with him.  
  
The boy had called him  _Riccardo_ , as if he knew him.  
  
“A rough night?” Pippo asked when Riccardo finally walked in, busying himself with wiping the counter in desperate attempt to appear uninterested.  
  
“Not more than usual,” Riccardo answered casually, pulling out a barstool and sitting down at the counter, studying Pippo’s jerky movements, “Where’d you stay? I couldn’t sleep without you in there.”  
  
“At Gigi’s – you seemed so occupied with the kid that I thought it better not to bother you,” Pippo kept his eyes carefully fixed to the old cigarette burn on the counter, afraid his cool demeanour might break if he looked at Riccardo.  
  
His effort was proven useless when Riccardo leaned his elbows on the counter and stated simply, “You’re jealous.”  
  
“I’m not,” Pippo snapped back a bit too fast, finally looking up at Riccardo who was pursing his lips in obvious disbelief, “I’m just worried. You told me you wouldn’t sell yourself.”  
  
Riccardo was still wearing the dress from the night before; his makeup was smudged and his carefully styled curls now looked more like a bird’s nest. He was wearing Pippo’s boots and jacket, and frankly, if someone had seen him now, his cover would have been blown immediately.  
  
“I don’t sell myself,” Riccardo said plainly, meeting Pippo’s eyes challengingly, “He didn’t pay me: I did it because I  _wanted_  to.”  
  
“Why?” the question was out of Pippo’s mouth before he could consider the consequences. He was not sure if he was even entitled to ask, because they were not a couple per se – Pippo had hard time understanding  _what_  they were after such a long time spent together but not _together_.  
  
Riccardo was biting his thumb nail and Pippo reached out instinctively to pull his hand away from his mouth.  
  
“He’s getting married in three days,” Riccardo finally said softly, twisting one jacket sleeve into his first like trying to distract himself, “He’s so much like me, but he can’t run away. So I wanted to give him something to hang on to, something to remember when he’s sleeping with his wife.”  
  
“So it was, what, charity?” Pippo prompted, trying to keep his voice level but failing terribly, “You felt sorry for him so you decided to sleep with him?”  
  
“No!” Riccardo snapped back, looking actually hurt by Pippo’s words, “He was only the third person I’ve ever been with. How can you even think I’d do it for  _pity_?”  
  
“Then why did you?” Pippo knew he was letting his feelings to get the best of him, raising his voice even though he had decided to stay calm, “You told me I was the only one you wanted, and then you go and fuck a kid you barely even know—”  
  
“Because it wasn’t Rita he wanted!” Riccardo’s yell interrupted whatever Pippo had been about to say. He could not even remember what he had wanted to say in the first place, when he realized there were tears in Riccardo’s eyes and he was biting his lip to keep it from trembling.  
  
“He knew what I was, and he still wanted me,” Riccardo continued, his voice now nothing more than a broken whisper, “He always looked at me and saw past the costume, even if he didn’t realize it at the beginning. He saw  _me_ , Riccardo, not Rita the saloon girl.”  
  
Those words broke Pippo’s heart, because it was only then that he realized how much damage he had done when he had taken the supposedly easy way out. Because he had not seen it, had not realized that when Riccardo had said it was easier when he was Rita, he had meant it was easier to  _pretend_.  
  
“I love you, Pippo. I’ve never been as happy as I’ve been during these months I’ve spent with you,” Riccardo was still talking, unaware of the mental breakdown Pippo was going through, “But you’re still calling me Rita even when we’re alone – you still look at me and see  _her_. With him I didn’t need to worry about that.”  
  
Riccardo had never wanted to be  _normal_. He had been pretending because that was what Pippo had wanted to be. All Riccardo had ever wanted was to be loved, to be wanted, to be seen for who he was.  
  
And Pippo had let him down.  
  
“I do see you,” Pippo said softly, his voice breaking at the last word, forcing him to clear his throat before repeating the words more certainly, “I do see you, Riccardo. I always have.”  
  
Maybe he had seen flashes of Alessia in Riccardo when he first came to Miner’s Rest – a small resemblance that had convinced him help Riccardo in the first place – but since then it had been all Riccardo.  
  
He walked around the counter, just like he had all those months ago, until he was standing in front of Riccardo, meeting his eyes without a shimmer of a doubt in his mind that this was what he had to do.  
  
He touched Riccardo’s cheek, wiping the remaining rouge away from the soft skin. There were dark tear tracks going down Riccardo’s face, his thick eye makeup washing off with every new tear. Pippo wiped those away too, although he actually only managed to make the mess worse.  
  
“I love you, Riccardo,” he said once he was sure he had the boy’s full attention, “You – Riccardo – Rita – every part of you. I look at you and see no difference, no matter what you’re wearing: I see the man I fell in love with. Always.”  
  
There were fresh tears running down Riccardo’s cheeks now, but this time there was a ghost of a smile on his trembling lips as he replied, “You better not be lying just to make me feel better, because if you are—”  
  
Pippo interrupted him by kissing him gently. He could taste the tears on Riccardo’s lips, and silently he swore this would be the last time he ever made Riccardo cry.  
  
  
_VII_  
  
  
The night at the saloon had been quiet so Pippo had decided to close early, allowing Riccardo to go upstairs while he cleaned up the bar.  
  
Riccardo was feeling fidgety as he waited for Pippo to come up. The barkeep had smiled at him differently and touched him more familiarly throughout the night, but Riccardo still had no idea what he was supposed to expect now that the curtains were closed and it would be just the two of them.  
  
He had only kicked off the shoes and pulled off the stockings – he was still using the garters Pippo had given him every night, even though he had received new ones as presents from the customers – rubbing the soles of his feet to make the ache go away.  
  
“Riccardo, you still up?” Pippo asked as he walked into the room, balancing a bowl of warm water with one arm, “Would you like to wash up properly? God knows how many layers of makeup you’re wearing.”  
  
He set the bowl on the table next to the bed and sat down next to Riccardo, pressing a gentle kiss on his bare shoulder revealed by his red dress before busying himself with the laces at the back, pulling them open one by one.  
  
“Are you sure?” Riccardo finally voiced his doubts when Pippo started pushing the dress down his torso, revealing the corset underneath, “It’ll be different. I can’t be Rita once the costume’s off – we won’t be able to go back.”  
  
He was scared, even after hearing Pippo’s assurances, that once the role was removed Pippo would realize he had been wrong: that he would not want Riccardo like that after all.  
  
“I told you,” Pippo replied in a low voice, opening the bindings of the corset now that the dress was pulled down to Riccardo’s waist, “I never saw you as a woman – I don’t know if I would’ve even wanted you if you were a woman.”  
  
The corset came off and Riccardo could finally breathe properly, the cool night air in the room making him shiver involuntarily as it hit his newly revealed skin. This was new: until then, he had always worn at least the undergarments when he had slept Pippo.  
  
“I’m sorry it took me so long to say it,” Pippo whispered into his ear as he wrapped his arms around Riccardo from behind, splaying one of his palms against his belly while the other one caressed his flat chest, firm and reassuring.  
  
Riccardo let out a soft gasp when the fingers brushed over his nipple, the brief contact surprisingly erotic. He leant his head back on Pippo’s shoulder, their cheeks pressed together momentarily.  
  
“Wash up,” Pippo told him softly, brushing his lips against Riccardo’s cheek, “I want to show it to you, how beautiful you are to me even without any makeup – just you, my Riccardo.”  
  
Riccardo pulled away from Pippo’s arms reluctantly, leaning forward to reach the bowl of water, picking up the washcloth hanging from the edge. It took time to wash away all the makeup, and by the time he was done, both the water and the cloth were coloured ugly grey.  
  
That was what his mask had been all along, nothing more than dirt smudged over his skin.  
  
Riccardo turned to look at Pippo hesitantly, only meeting his eyes when he saw he was smiling – wide and affectionate – biting the inside of his lip when Pippo reached out to run his fingers down his jaw line.  
  
“You look amazing,” Pippo said with a smile, his hand still caressing Riccardo face as he leant in to kiss him, keeping the contact gentle until Riccardo himself dared to push forward, pressing his tongue against Pippo’s lips, deepening the kiss.  
  
“Stand up,” Pippo told him once they broke the kiss, dropping his hands to Riccardo’s waist and pushing the dress and the petticoat down to the floor when he followed the order, leaving him in his underpants.  
  
“Beautiful,” Pippo breathed out the word, looking up at Riccardo’s face and then down his torso, before he pulled Riccardo closer and pressed a kiss against his stomach, his tongue dipping into his navel briefly.  
  
An embarrassing whimper escaped Riccardo’s lips when Pippo slipped his fingers under the waistband of the underwear, the tight fabric rubbing against his crotch even before Pippo pushed down the final piece of clothing, releasing his erection.  
  
Riccardo’s face heated up as Pippo studied his cock thoughtfully, a tip of his tongue peeking between his lips. He was sure he was red as a beet, his whole body tensing up with both anxiousness and anticipation.  
  
It was the first time in his life he was completely naked in front of a man and just standing there felt much more intimate than anything he had even done before.  
  
“Say something,” Riccardo whispered finally, looking down at Pippo whose hands had dropped down to his lap, like afraid to touch him again.  
  
“I didn’t want to repeat myself,” Pippo replied softly, glancing up at Riccardo’s face, a loving smile lingering on his lips, “I was afraid you’d think me an old fool.”  
  
“Nonsense,” Riccardo dared to let out a laugh bubbling inside his chest, a wave relief washing over him. He reached out for Pippo’s shirt, opening the buttons one by one, revealing the weathered chest, taking his time to admire every little detail, every blemish and mark on the beautiful skin.  
  
Pippo waited patiently for him to remove the shirt and then move to the trousers, opening them carefully, pushing off the clothes separating them. He touched Riccardo again – took a hold of his hand – only once they were both completely naked.  
  
“I’ll make sure you’ll have it all,” Pippo said as he guided Riccardo to sit on the bed next to him, “Happiness, freedom, acceptance. We can be all that, together.”  
  
He pushed Riccardo down to his back before he could say anything, leaning over him, sliding one hand up his thigh. He was moving slowly, so Riccardo had time to anticipate what was to come, but still he was surprised by the intensity of the sensation when the long fingers finally wrapped around his cock.  
  
Pippo moved his hand carefully, tracing the shape of Riccardo’s erection with every jerk, like familiarizing himself with the new feeling. Riccardo moaned softly when he rubbed the tip of his cock, spreading the drops of precome to make the touch smoother.  
  
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Pippo admitted with a chuckle, looking down at his hand on Riccardo and then back at his face, like observing his reactions.  
  
“You’re doing fine,” Riccardo answered, his voice much more constrained than he had expected, breath stuck in his throat, “Just shut up and kiss me.”  
  
Pippo followed the demand easily, catching Riccardo’s lips with his own, adjusting his position so that he was laying half on top of Riccardo, the strokes on his cock fastening as the kiss deepened.  
  
Riccardo could feel Pippo’s cock pressed against his thigh, his hips thrusting against Riccardo in time with the jerks on his cock, probably more on instinct than deliberately.  
  
Riccardo knew he should return the favour, but his hands did not seem to work, his whole body refusing to cooperate as he started nearing his climax, pushing his cock against Pippo’s hand without any conscious effort.  
  
“Wait. I want to—” he tried to speak against Pippo’s lips, but his voice hitched, the words caught in his throat, and then they were swallowed into another kiss that wiped his mind clear from all protests.  
  
But it seemed like Pippo understood him nonetheless. He loosened his hold on Riccardo’s cock and used his other hand to guide Riccardo’s malfunctioning one to his erection, helping him to find a fast, jerky rhythm before turning his own attention back to Riccardo’s cock.  
  
Pippo broke the kiss only when the first shivers of orgasm started running through Riccardo’s body, allowing him to throw his head back and moan out loud as he came, even the familiar feeling of seed shooting over his belly feeling oddly new.  
  
When Riccardo finally came back to his senses, Pippo was thrusting into his hand with a growing urgency, his face pressed against his neck, teeth grazing his Adam’s apple, his loud moan only half-suppressed when he reached his own climax.  
  
Riccardo twisted his body under Pippo’s, adjusting his position until he could wrap his arms around Pippo’s shoulders, throwing one leg around his hip to stop him from moving away even though they were a mess, drying seed sticking to their skin.  
  
“I love you so much,” he whispered against Pippo’s hair, tangling his fingers into the dark strands, treasuring the feeling of closeness he had never experienced before, not like this, “Next time, I want you to make love to me – to have all of me.”  
  
Pippo did not answer in words. Instead, he caught Riccardo lips in another kiss, gentle and caring but also possessive at the same time, his hold on Riccardo’s waist tightening, pulling him as close as physically possible.  
  
And Riccardo understood: it was a wordless promise, a promise of tomorrow, a promise of forever.  
  
If only Riccardo knew how long their  _forever_  could last.

**Author's Note:**

> A little summary on the different entertainment establishments in the Old West:  
> \- Dance halls were saloons where the main attraction was dancing: the man would purchase a dancing ticket and then after the dance the girl would take him to the bar. It was fairly common that the girl would marry a customer and leave the dance hall, which is why the owners tried to make sure the men didn’t pay too much attention on one girl only.  
> \- Saloons didn’t always employ saloon girls, and their work differed from one place to another. However, they rarely worked as prostitutes and were careful not to be thought of as such, even though the “respectable women” of the time still viewed them as “soiled.”  
> \- Saloon girls wore scandalously short dresses for the time, reaching only knee or mid-shin, and typically their neckline was cut low. They really got garters and other accessories as presents from their patrons. (High heels weren’t actually that popular in the 19th century as far as I know, but I needed Riccardo to wear them for the sake of fluff so…)  
> \- Parlour houses were high class brothels that often offered a variety of entertainment aside from prostitution. The establishments were usually large houses with decorated parlours (thus the name), with red lanterns set up to reveal their business to the customers.  
> \- Brothels were usually smaller and simpler than parlour houses. It was also usual for a prostitute to work privately, doubling as a seamstress for example to make it easier for the customers to go in and out of her shop.
> 
> Comments would be much appreciated!


End file.
